Michael Has Feelings, Too
by TurningANewPage
Summary: "The threads of Michael-the-child were undone, hanging bare, and the strands of Amelie, the house, and instinct wove themselves in. The three grated against one another; he lunged at the humans, and you could see it in eyes no longer his." A little something devoted to the Glass House's emotional punching bag. Rated T for angst and general vampirism. Drabble series; updated weekly.
1. Preamble

_[Preamble]_

A little something devoted to the Glass House's emotional punching bag, Michael Glass.

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Michael Glass was an individual about whom few tried to understand. He was an individual who accepted others and who was accepted by others. Soft-spoken but strong, he gave off an aura similar to that of a well-mannered cat – likeable enough but not really an object of attention. In more ways than one, he seemed to fit his house more than he fit the people with whom he lived.

Still, Michael cared. Although so resolutely one with the house, he could not stay in any longer. To see his friends leave and hurt out there without him—he could not take it any longer.

Michael made a choice.

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Michael Glass was not stupid.

Michael Glass understood that the vamps were bad. In fact, he understood that the vamps were very bad. Mostly.

Michael Glass also understood that some were okay. He saw his grandfather, Sam Glass, and saw a little bit of himself. Like him, Sam was a peripheral character; one rarely sought out but one who gave unconditionally.

A vamp who was somewhat okay. Admirable, even.

Shane Collins was stupid. Michael Glass also understood that. Okay, maybe _stupid_ isn't the most fitting word, but in short, Shane Collins was close-minded. Shane Collins understood that the vamps were bad, he understood that the vamps were very bad, and that was the end of that discussion.

Perhaps obstinate is a better choice of word.

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The Glass House was also obstinate. The house itself, that is to say (not just the people in it—although, to be fair, the four of them each held the trait to a considerable degree).

When the Glass House almost lost its human version of a house-cat two years ago, it did all it could to hold on. Since then, Michael Glass was held captive; the infinite infirm.

But Michael Glass is not one to be caged in.


	2. Growing Up

Kids don't _get_ much until one day they do, and then they are not kids anymore. This breach to comprehension—this moment when they shift from innocence to maturity—it undoes the fabric of a child, adds the elements of the moments, and stitches the child back together again.

As the Collin home burnt down, Michael's parents refused to allow him to leave the home. _Too dangerous_, they justified, and Michael saw the fear in their eyes. The family held him.

As the Collin family left town, Michael's friend refused to take him with them. _Too messed up, _he justified, and Michael saw the pain in his eyes. The town held him.

As the Collin boy returned, Michael longed to tell his friend. _Too soon_, he justified, but he felt the insecurity in his eyes. The loneliness held him.

As the Collin boy died, Michael longed to rescue the man. _Too much_, he'd scream, but he felt the prison in his bones. The house held him.

There is nothing the Glass House hates more than to lose a resident.

And there is nothing that Shane Collins hates more than vampires.

But there is nothing that Michael Glass hates more than to be held captive.

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In the end, it wasn't even a decision, really.

The unjustly imprisoned man jumps at any chance for escape. If you lack the keys, you don't stop to contemplate a door swinging shut—you simply shoot out your hand to catch it before the chance is gone. It's instinctive. Who could blame you?

"You will not be the man she knows. Or the one Eve loves. Will you risk that, too?"

He caught the opportunity. "Yes, I will."

The threads of Michael-the-child were undone, hanging bare, and the strands of Amelie, the house, and instinct wove themselves in. The three grated against one another; he lunged at the humans, and you could see it in eyes no longer his. Michael Glass had stepped through the gate, and they were stitched into him—Amelie, instinct, and that damned house.

The new man was—oh, God—snarling.


	3. Denial

_[Denial]_

Michael wasn't one for denial, but his friends sure were.

It sucked, being what he was, and while it sucked for him, he was glad for them that they could forget what he was.

There were many moments for which he could not forget what he was.


	4. (1)

(1) (Dead Girl's Dance)

The snarling erupted from a throat too tight, gurgling up from a stomach too firm. Eyes rolled wildly, and while all he saw was the ceiling, Michael could _feel_ the human girls in the corner. They were two brightly burning flames; he was the moth drawn inexorably toward them.

A new, quiet blue flame touched his forehead, and things stilled. Fragments of existing—like the fires in the corner and the urgency in his bones—still couldn't fit together right, but there was a moment of patience. _It'll come_, the butterfly thought touched his membrane.

His whole body ached, tense with something unbearably sharp, until a pleasant dullness touched his lips and faded into him. The blue fire poured through him to his very toes, and the pieces began to slide into place.

Eve had screamed, he realized, and he tried to remember. _What's wrong, Eve? _He wanted to ask, but he forgot how.

But he could feel his toes, he remembered. He slowly turned over to look at the girls.

They were shaking, holding each other. Because…

_Oh. _He licked his lips. _Because they taste good_.

"Behold," Amelie began. He knew he should be listening, but he couldn't. He was caught in Claire's stare and the pale thudding of her pulse.

Michael learned that fear is something you can taste.

"That's it? It's done." Eager to distract himself from the taste in his mouth—and eager to leave the cage, he turned to the heavy Victorian door.

"Yes," the Founder said. "It's done."

He took a step toward it: the door, his prison guard.

"Michael," Amelie interrupted. "Vampires can be killed, and many know the ways. If you grow careless, you will die, no matter how many laws Morganville holds to protect us from our enemies." She looked at the two girls—Michael refused to follow suit. "Vampires cannot live among humans. It is too difficult, too tempting." Michael recalled the heady flavor of fear. "You understand? They must leave your house. You must have time to learn what you are."

_They must leave your house_. Michael looked at the girls, and thought of broken Claire sobbing on the doorstep, rebellious Eve wandering the streets with a dark glint in her eyes. No, he could not abandon the one, and he could not live without the other.

"No, this is their home, and it's my home, and it's Shane's home. We're a family. I'm not giving that up."

"Do you know why I stopped you? Why I ordered Sam to stop you? Because your instincts cannot be trusted, Michael, not at this point. You cannot care, because your feelings will hurt them. Do you understand? Were you not moving toward these two girls with the intention of feeding on them?"

"No," he muttered. Knee-jerk reaction. But behind that, he recalled liberation as he rushed toward what he needed.

"Think."

_No, no. _Surely, he rushed to… embrace them. To embrace Eve, right?

"No."

The movie of minutes prior was playing in his head, muted. Was he…snarling?

"You were." Sam interjected. "I know, Michael. I was there once. And there was no one to stop me."

That dull thudding—he recognized it now—he found the source, and he met her eyes.

_Eve_.

If hearts could choke, his was gasping for air.

"It won't happen again. I know Michael. He wouldn't have done this if he was going to hurt any of us. He'd die first."

"He did die," Amelie retorted. "The human part of him is gone. What is left is mine."

He flinched.

"Come, Michael. You must need food. I will show you where to go."

_No. I need to still be… _He struggled to wrap the thought together.

In Eve's eyes, he found the answer.

_Me. _

"Wait a minute. Please."

He stepped toward Eve and held out his hand.

The fear still hung in the room—he would be sure to stay aware from Claire—but the steadiness in Eve's eyes fought back any fear or temptation of his own.

"I'm sorry. There wasn't any other way." As if on cue, Eve's pulse picked up and it thudded against him. He swallowed. He tried to explain himself, and she accepted him. Or, tried to, at least.

He kissed her, and everything—the pain, loneliness, hunger—all fell into that moment. She took it in, took him in, the way she'd always had.

He pulled back. This time, there was something he needed that he would not ask her to sate.

"I'll be back. Amelie's right. I need to—" _Don't make me say it_, he thought. Glancing at Amelie, he realized no one was making him do anything.

_I'm not caged anymore. _

"I need to feed."


End file.
